Watch Where You're Stepping
by Everlane
Summary: Set in future of the ABNH universe. An ignorant counselor sees how his ignorance almost cost him.


_Disclaimer: I don't own Glee_

**Author's Note:** I was really surprised by the influx of reviews for _A Boy Named Handro_. So I came up with a few works for the universe. Yes, this won't be the only one. Only the beginning. Still working on my other works when I grab the time, and that's only in the weekends on a Friday night man!

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**Watch Where You're Stepping**

He didn't like boys with baggage. It's as simple as that. Usually it meant having to fight through a goddamn wall before he managed to find a door with a lock. And even when he opens that damn lock, he still had to find the damn switch to put light into the situation. He didn't have a lot of time on his hands, especially when it came to this immigrant.

You can win a full scholarship into one of the most prestigious schools, be at the top five percent, but in the end, you're only scum.

Papers were stacked up, with shuffling the only music in the office. He made it well known that he was quietly studying the boy, who sat behind his desk, next to another taller one with the most fucked up nose he'd ever seen. Honestly he never thought this would be coming, since this kid focused a lot on his books. But since it did happen, especially to a rich kid, he finally had the chance to take this trash out of here.

He had a small scowl that served at his trademark look, the same scowl that showed everyone that he didn't trust them. This was going to be a little tough.

The boy's looks and background simply had no damn place in one of the top private schools in Upper Manhattan. It just wasn't meant to happen, and today proved it. He had to admit though, this fourteen year old was a force to be reckon with, and it took getting the other boy's nose smashed to get that point straight across.

He took a look at one file, silently sighing to himself at the boy's record, as if he even cared, "Over the past year you've gotten into over eight fights, and been suspended four number of times. Sent to the main office dozens of times for disrupting class, and for verbally assaulting your teachers. You've been placed in detention more times than I could count." He threw the file on his table. "The only good thing about you is that you still manage to keep up with your grades, Alejandro."

"It's two," The boy said.

He blinked, "What?"

The boy glared dangerously at him, dark eyes reminding him of someone he couldn't remember. "I only got into two fights."

"That's not what this file says,"

"That file's a joke."

The door into his office opened, revealing a dark haired man in what he liked to call the power suit. Immediately, his eyes traveled onto the immigrant, who glared back squarely. Frederick Simmons was a man who didn't like bullshit, but for some reason, the man took a second look at the boy, as if he was trying to remember where he'd seen him.

It made him gaze at the boy again, who was almost as tall as his five foot eleven victim. Alejandro Lopez wasn't a popular kid, for he had all of the football team and school constantly trying to show him his place.

But the girls wanted him, and if it weren't for the fact that he's a poor class immigrant, maybe he'd be on top of this school. He admitted that the kid had good looks, with dark brown eyes that were highly alert and tanned skin, along with a build that was almost as muscular as the boy next to him, and dark brown hair shaped into a short messy hawk at the top

The counselor tried to see what was familiar about him, and made a note to look into his family later this evening. His mother was coming over, giving him some insight. She'd probably scream and yell about racism and shit, but he didn't give a damn, he'd shut her up if he had to and continue to try to get this boy out if it's the last thing he had to do.

"What the hell's going on?"

The counselor looked away from the boy to Simmons, "Apparently I came to find this kid assaulting your son," He gestured toward the boy, who decided that the window was more interesting than the entire group. The counselor didn't know what made him so fucking cocky. "Eyes on me, son."

"I'm not your son," He said.

The counselor rushed from his seat, stormed over to the boy to grab his collar. "Listen to me, I'll fucking get you expelled from this school if I have to, you hear me?" The boy's expression never wavered, but his hands wrenched him off.

Simmons was oddly quiet, with a sheen of sweat over his face. He looked at the counselor for a long time, his eyes a far cry from the tough looks he donned on the other times he came to bail his son out of trouble. The counselor didn't get it, what was it about the boy that got to him? He sat back in his seat, about to speak when Mr. Simmons cut him to the chase.

"You don't know who he is, don't you?"

He smirked, "I know he's suspended."

His door opened again, revealing Madge, the blond secretary he's tried to get his hands on since he was posted here. She had a panicked look on her face before saying, "Alton, his mother is here."

_Again_. That look.

What was it about this kid that scared them?

Simmons looked away with a roll of his eyes, cursing under his breath before standing up. "What's wrong with you?"

"My boss is coming, that's what's fucking wrong, Alton."

Alton froze, "Wait. Your boss?"

"Yes, you damn idiot!" Simmons cried.

The secretary quickly retreated back, leaving the door closed, that's when he heard it. The clicking. He turned around to look out his window, taken aback by the the wave of paparazzi near the school. _Shit. _Simmons' boss was the rich lawyer who's celebrity famous because of the woman she married, having a son out of a scandalous affair that rocked New York and brought a wave of criticism from religious conservatives and the like. Still, the family didn't give a shit about what America had to say. This kid wasn't an immigrant. He was born out of a scandal, but was the heir to the most filthy rich family in New York.

_Shit._

That's why he was familiar. He's seen the boy on several magazines as a small kid, often laughing or playing with most of New York's elite youngsters. Once he looked in disgust at him as a newborn, cradled carefully by his lawyer of a mother who had kissed his forehead. He thought about the several times he flat out insulted the boy, who always either glared and watched him quietly as if he was the most idiotic being on earth.

The door opened quietly. As soon as she stepped in, he could tell why the boy looked so familiar. He was the living image of his mother. She reeked of prominence, donning on the most expensive coat and suit over platform heels. Her raven hair fell past her shoulders, shimmering as she slowly took a look at Simmons, dark eyes scanning him from head to toe.

"Why are you here?" She asked in a husky voice, not even bothering to inquire about the beaten up jock next to her son. When Simmons refused to speak, she then looked at Alton, who tried his hardest to avoid her gaze. "Care to tell me, Mr. Jackson?"

Nothing.

"Then I guess nothing's wrong then, right?" She asked.

The counselor slowly nodded, knowing that if he dared try to give her the false story he gave Simmons, she'd quickly tell he was a liar. Who knows what the boy told the mother about the shit he's said.

"Nothing's wrong."

Her lips curved up, "That means you give my son a blank slate."

"That-"

"Mr. Jackson...Alton." She began, pinning him down with a withering glare. "You've had quite a mouth over the past year. And I know that you also sent this boy to scare Handro in an attempt to get him kicked out of the school, planting several incidents he wasn't responsible for in his file. If you don't erase that slate, I will personally make sure you're groveling on the streets. Do you understand me?"

He was literally boiling, but kept his cool, he knew that she meant what she said. She'll do it in a second, and he's seen it happen to others. "I get it."

The wounded jock rushed from his seat in at attempt to grab the other boy, but Simmons took hold of his arms and forced him back in his seat, straightening his suit afterward. Santana never flinched, but only kept her eyes on Alton. "I'm not stupid, and neither are you."

"No one thought yo-"

"Mr. Jackson, there's no need to try to take the lead here." She began. "You're under me, since I pay for most of the funds going towards this school. If I were you, I'd shut it to save myself some dignity. When I say clean that slate, I want to make sure I see no dirt by the time Mr. Simmons here checks back on you next week. Won't you?" She turned to the silent man who sat next to his son.

In other words, he'll do this if he's eager to keep his job. "Of course, Ms. Lopez."

She smiled brightly. "Good." She turned to Alton, smile soon vanishing. "Are we done?"

They waited silently, but when the boy stood up and neared the door, standing right behind his mother, Alton took the moment to speak.

"We are."

He was fuming by the time the mother and son duo walked out of the room. Simmons was quiet in a corner, eyes pinned on his dark expression. "Wouldn't try it."

"What?" Alton asked.

"Whatever you're thinking, " He turned to gesture for his son to leave the room. Once the boy did, he slowly stood up and stood near the door. "I've seen someone try and fall twice as hard...do yourself a damn favor and quit it."

The door closed.

_Quit it. _


End file.
